


The one where Fitz gets tied up by Lord Golden, released by Amber and kissed better by Beloved

by ally_mcgee



Category: Realm of the Elderlings - Robin Hobb
Genre: Bondage, Consensual Kink, Established Relationship, F/M, Genderfluid Character, Light BDSM, M/M, Other, Subspace, Telepathic Bond, mid-scene soul searching, skex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:01:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24521266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ally_mcgee/pseuds/ally_mcgee
Summary: When you carry a world full of secrets for a lifetime, letting go can be next to impossible. But there's nothing a few obscure Jamaillian rope tricks can't fix.
Relationships: FitzChivalry Farseer/Amber, FitzChivalry Farseer/The Fool
Comments: 4
Kudos: 32





	The one where Fitz gets tied up by Lord Golden, released by Amber and kissed better by Beloved

**Author's Note:**

> disclaimer, because I'm old school like that:  
> The characters and the world they live and play in belong to Robin Hobb, I am merely borrowing them for fun.  
> I personally believe that both BDSM and fanfiction can be not only healthy and fun but also greatly therapeutic, and hope sincerely that no one judges either based on what they know about 50shades.
> 
> This particular story treats each of Beloved's facets as almost separate personalities, and Beloved themself as a fully genderfluid individual. Pronouns match the ones Fitz uses in the books so Lord Golden and Beloved are both he and Amber is a she.  
> Timewise we're past the Quarrel but pre-Aslevjal/ignoring that altogether.
> 
> tl:dr This whole fic is just an over-emotional light bondage sex scene. That's it. I just wanted to write introspective subspace Fitzy.  
> Lyrics are from Some Kind of Stranger by The Sisters of Mercy

_ And I know the world is cold but if you hold on tight  _

_ to what you find you might not mind too much, _

_ though even this must pass away. _

_ And memories may last for years  _

_ but names are just for souvenirs. _

_ Some kind of angel, let me look into your eyes. _

_ Don't give me whys and wherefores, reason or surprise. _

_ I don't care for words that don't belong, _

_ and I don't care what you're called, tell me later if at all. _

_ Some kind of stranger, come inside. _

The room is oddly silent, both the cries of the gulls and the bright light of the spring sun are kept out by the heavy velvet curtains. He has lit a whole army of fat beeswax candles on every shelf and table, and in their warm yellow glow it's easy to forget time altogether.  This is somewhere else entirely, this is certainly not my ordinary life at Buckkeep. The door to the antechamber and onward to my room is hidden in a dark shadow. There's nothing but this room, the warm syrupy air, the low light and the spicy scent of the strange incense smouldering in the low porcelain dish.

Nothing but him and me.

He asked me before if a riding crop would make me uncomfortable and I said yes, thinking it would remind me of Galen. Now that I watch him there I sort of regret that. 

He's in a ruby red satin robe that's held together by a golden belt, loosely enough to reveal the tender bones of his upper chest and the smooth skin of his legs, crossed at the ankles. He's barefooted and his hair is loose from its usual artful arrangements. I much prefer it like this, falling over his shoulders like a fountain of melting gold.

The gloves he's chosen are expensive black leather.  The idea of a riding crop in those hands makes me squirm against the ropes that bind me to the posts of his bed. 

The rope is soft, silky and strong, made of some gray fiber I've never seen before. It doesn't hurt unless I struggle extensively.  There's another coil of it on the bed between my legs, he's only tied my wrists to the bedposts this time. But there are other, more cunning tricks he knows, too. 

He can tie my elbows together behind my back so that I'm forced to keep my back arched and my chin up.  He knows a complicated series of knots to work around my knees and ankles so that I have to stay put but can't close my legs.  I wonder, not for the first time, if these tricks were first developed for torture and interrogation and were only refined for this particular use later.

I could ask the Fool, but he's not here.

Lord Golden flows fluidly to his feet and comes to me, blood red satin unfurling around his legs like a rose. I hold my breath as leather covered fingertips follow the curve of my foot, caress the bones of my ankle and then dance up my shin.  He adds more pressure after my knee, his thumb pressing into my inner thigh as his front teeth bite down on his lower lip.

I wish he had blindfolded me. I find it hard to meet the raw hunger in his eyes when he looks at me, it feels like he's looking at someone else, someone better and I feel like I'm betraying him by pretending. 

His fingers find an old scar on my left hip, an ugly jagged sign of ripped and badly healed flesh and skin.  He takes his time with all the ugliest parts of me, forces me to accept his appreciation and love, not letting me hide.

"I should have a mirror installed on the ceiling", he muses, tapping his lower lip with his index finger, the one that's not currently circling lower and lower on my stomach, forcing me to squeeze my eyes shut and count to ten to keep this from being over way too soon.  "I could make you watch yourself."

He runs a very sudden finger up my length.

"Hnnghah!" I've bruised both wrists now.

Lord Golden stands by me, arms crossed, watching me squirm with an amused smile.

"By Sa, Tom", he says appreciatively, taking in the full extent of my uncomfortable state, "you sure know how to put on a show for a guy."

I can't even look at him. I am his servant, his to command. The roles that we adapted out of necessity and have since become our everyday lives are cast into a very different light when he locks the door and orders me to undress.

His to command. His to own.

His to use however he wants to.

His power over me becomes absolute when he has me tied up like this, my body and all its sensations and reactions are no longer mine to control, but his.

He decides when and what I see, what I feel, when I can move. When I can come.

"Open your eyes", he tells me, as if reading my thoughts. 

I force myself to look at him. I can feel the blush burning my cheeks.  He's twirling a long, stunningly green feather in his hands. I watch, mesmerized, as it flows between his long, leather covered fingers. Then he decides to run it down his own cheek, and slowly onto his neck.  It seems to feel good, judging by the way his mouth opens just slightly, the tip of his tongue flicking out to wet his lower lip. 

I'm vaguely aware that my mouth is hanging open, I probably look very much like a fish but lack the ability to do anything about it.  Lord Golden seems amused, he steps closer and tickles the palm of my left hand with the tip of the feather. 

I've given up trying to understand how different everything feels when I'm on edge like this, what should tickle feels almost painful, but in a decidedly enjoyable way. A shiver runs through me, it makes my toes curl and breath hitch.  Lord Golden chuckles, runs the feather down my arm. "Eyes open", he reminds me. I had not even realized I had disobeyed him again. He brings the tip of the feather up my sternum and neck, like a weapon. I lift my chin obediently.

"I meant what I said," he continues, more sternly this time. "And don't move. Can you stay still or do I have to tie your feet too?" 

The tighter I'm bound the less in control I have to be, the less I have to think. I wish he would make the decision for me. I don't know whether to say yes or no because I no longer know what the words mean.

"I'm sorry", I say instead.

"Good boy", he says, even though I'm not still. I'm shaking all over. The feather tip travels down again, lower and lower and although I bite my teeth together as hard as I can my knee still jerks when he tickles my stomach.  "I'm sorry", I say before he's had time to rebuke me. "I'm sorry."

My eyes are squeezed shut but I can hear the soft swish of the fabric as he moves the foot of the bed.

"It's alright, Tom", he says, and sits down by my knee. "I'm going to touch you know." His voice is low and soothing, like he's trying to calm an agitated horse. He waits for my frantic nod before laying a gentle palm on my ankle. It's considerate of him, to warn me before touching, surprises aren't easy for me to deal with in the state I'm in.  For some reason the feeling of gratitude for that small gesture that suddenly overwhelms me isn't any easier. Hot tears burn my face as they escape from under my lashes.  I twist reflexively to wipe my face but only manage to get loose hair stuck to my wet face.

"Stop that", Lord Golden says fondly. I open my eyes to find him by side again, leaning over me. He smiles and gives his head a small shake and tenderly wipes the hair and tears from my face with the pad of his thumb.  "You can let go now. Let it all go. I've got you."

He places an airy light kiss just between my eyebrows. I try to twist and lift my head as far as I can to chase after the kiss but he's gone again.

Another kiss to the side of my hip, long hair tickling my thigh.

"Aaaah!"

"Shhhh."

He pats my knee, laughing.  I try to stay still. I feel like a bowstring pulled as far back as it can go.  Lord Golden lays a firm hand on my ankle then chuckles, "You point your toes like a dancer."

He pauses for a moment, runs his finger up my inner thigh, making me jolt again. I've always known he was stronger than he looked but it still makes me gasp how easily he holds my leg down with one hand. 

"Don't move. Tom." He adds the name as an afterthought almost. That makes me feel a little breathless again, I had long forgotten the role I was supposed to play, but to hear him betray that this was affecting him too…

He moves to my right ankle. The rope feels like ice against my skin, the contrast between the hard twists of fiber and the smooth leather of his gloves is almost too intense to bear, the sensation echoing around my nervous system makes me shudder.  


He pulls at the rope and it tightens around my ankle. I'm completely helpless now.

"Is this a punishment for something, my Lord?" I swallow to keep my voice level but breathing doesn't get any easier. "Have I displeased you?"

His leather covered fingers caress my chest, tip of my chin, the shell of my ear. "Oh no. Quite the contrary." The smell of leather is intoxicating. "This is a reward."

He tilts my head up gently to look me in the eye.  "Don't I feel like a reward to you?"

"You do", I say, and those two words mean a million things that I've always wanted to tell him but never had the nerve. Tell the Fool, or Lord Golden? 

I don't claim to understand why he feels the need to be different people and lead different, separate lives, but I have grudgingly come to accept it. Who am I, having shared my being with a wolf, to judge him for wanting a broader experience of life and the world than one human life can offer.  A large part of it was coming to terms with my own jealousy.

His secrets have always been his most valuable possessions, his best protection. I'm certain I know more of them than anyone else. The thought is humbling and frightening, but I notice it has also made me possessive.  The idea that someone, somewhere, might know him more intimately than I do, makes me irrationally angry. When I'm angry I have a tendency to say things without thinking, things I wish I could take back immediately after I have voiced them.

Lord Golden combs my hair away from my eyes. I nuzzle his wrist and he scoffs, but doesn't pull away. I want to please him, I want to show him how sorry I am. 

His hand is firm but not heavy, the fingertips under my ears suggesting rather than threatening as they gently guide my head as far back as possible. The wolf in me recognizes the rightness of this absolute surrender. I have never felt this safe.

From the moment my earliest memories start, I have had people assume things of me and expect things from me. I have been a bad omen, a savior, a public enemy and a father. A Catalyst.

At this moment I am none of those things. 

I am responsible for nothing.

I take a deep, slow breath, feel the pull of the restraints as my back arches off the bed.  I feel lighter than air, giddy but somehow more clear headed than ever before. I am a whisper disappearing into the four winds.

I wonder vaguely if this is the kind of feeling people chase with smoking herbs. I should tell him that, that he's like a drug to me. Lord Golden likes hearing things like that, he might roll his eyes but it's always with a smile.

He's so beautiful.  The words die at my lips and end up just staring at him dopily. I still get an eye roll and a smile. 

I have been so many things to so many people in my life, juggled so many roles and expectations and built entire worlds out of lies and half-truths. Dishonesty raises walls between people, I've built more than my share.  He never lied to me. I acted like a petulant child and insisted on running headfirst into what was not a lie but a truth I refused to accept as one. The implications of that thought are painful, but I force myself to face them.  In my jealousy and self-righteous anger I took his personal choices as an insult. Because his living as a woman was odd and shocking I took it to mean that was his intention to shut me out and make me feel stupid.

I have reached a conclusion.

"I want to meet her."

For a moment we simply look at each other, I'm ashamed to notice that there's a hint of fear in Lord Golden's proud eyes, he hasn't forgotten a past hurt and wishes to avoid being mocked. It pains me to see it but I know I deserve it.

"I was wrong. And I'm sorry", I say, wishing I could take his hand. "I want everyone to know that."

He stares at me for a short while longer, opens his mouth to speak but says nothing. Instead he turns away from me and rolls his shoulders.  The change is almost immediate. One moment it's Lord Golden sitting next to me, the next it's... definitely not him.  It's in the small things, the tilt of her hip and curve of her spine, the way she crosses her legs, careless of how much of her smooth thigh is suddenly visible, the look she gives me over a daintily raised shoulder and pouts her lips.

I have no idea who this woman is.

That turns me on more than it should.

My mouth is suddenly very dry. She looks at me slyly, hiding behind her raised shoulder and lowered lashes and somehow still manages to remind me of how in another place and time, people I don't know recognize me as her property.  We're frozen where we are, predator and prey, I am incredibly conscious of my naked, exposed state and the fact that she's so openly appreciative of it does not help.

"Finally", she says in a way of greeting, wicked little smile curving the corner of her lip, "you've kept me waiting."

"My humblest apologies, my Lady."

She looks incredibly pleased at my politeness, I can tell she's biting the inside of her cheek trying not to let it show.  She stretches like a cat to reach my ankle, undoes the knot easily, then twists even further to reach the other one. The red satin hides nothing of the curve of her hip and the way the steep valley of her lower back accentuates the swell of her behind.

"You're good with knots", I say and try to keep my eyes nailed to the ceiling. 

So, Lord Golden wanted to install a mirror? What kind of a view of Amber would that mirror give me right now? Damnit.

"I used to be a sailor."  She gives me a teasing look from under her hair, then raises an eyebrow at my skeptical face. 

"What? Don't believe me?"  She pulls at a loose end and the complicated structure comes undone as if by magic. She rubs at the skin of my ankle.  "Being a sailor is hard work, you know. You have to know a lot of things. Knots, sewing, geography…"

She turns to look at me and her smile is that of a lynx before she delivers the killing blow to a rabbit.

"But mostly it was just climbing big masts of wood."

And then she does exactly that by crawling up my body and seating herself down, thighs on both sides of my hips, trapping me between her body and my own stomach. The thin fabric of her robe does absolutely nothing to even out the difference in our body temperatures.  I very nearly pop a shoulder joint when I arch up from the mattress. 

She's there to catch me, one leather gloved hand in my hair, the other flat against my chest. I sink back, powerless and unable to look away from her face.

"I love you", she says, matter-of-factly as she drags her nails down my chest, the soft leather keeps it from being painful but does nothing to lessen the effect it has on me. Her hips are moving in a maddeningly slow circle, flush against mine. 

"What a ridiculous secret that was. Jek was right. You know what she told me? ''How can he not know when people who've never even met you know you're in love with him?'"  Her voice is light, almost casual, as is the kiss she leans to press on the corner of my mouth. I've given up all effort to breathe normally, every exhale comes out a keen and she's just there, cool and perfectly calm.

Another kiss to the tip of my nose.

Her eyelashes are dark gold.

"Do you love me too?" 

Her tone is still airy and teasing but her gold gaze locks with mine and I can tell that she is absolutely terrified of my answer. 

I know what I want to say but it's for someone else to hear.

Shame is like a weed, if a seed is planted into the mind it will grow to slowly suffocate and poison all other feelings and cripple the bearer so that they have no will to fight it. Perhaps a parasite would be a more apt comparison. A parasite that you might not even know you carry until it is too late.  I have suffered from this leech my entire life, starting and very much defined by my very birth. It took an unbelievable amount of love and patience to help me, and I doubt there's more than one person who could have ever done that. I'm lucky I found him.

My hands shake as Amber undoes the binds on my wrists, she has pushed every nerve to its limit, teased me so that I'm gasping for air.  The smooth satin feels like ice against my heated skin and when a lock of her hair falls to tickle my neck and chest I scream. I can't help it.  When my hands are free I reach for her, desperate to touch.

"Uh uh," she smiles and leans away, wagging a warning finger in front of my face. "No touching." 

I can't help the pitiful whine that I make. She gives a pleased little laugh and leans to kiss me on the mouth.

"Keep those hands right where they are."

"Please.." I manage in a choked whisper.

"What was that now?"

"Please, please."

I don't know what I'm asking for, only that there's only one person in the world who can give it to me

"Beloved", I whisper as I fist my hands in the sheets to keep them where I was told, "please."

"Oh." 

Amber was leaning over me, hands on both sides of my face, about to kiss me. She tries to pull away but I choose this moment to not obey.  There's a moment of disparity when I realize I've held Molly in this exact position, in a different life, far away from here. 

Amber's breath hitches as I grab her upper arms with shaking hands. Her cheeks are pink and her mouth slightly open, her eyelids flutter when I slide my hands higher. She lets her head fall when I move up onto her shoulders and slide my fingers into her hair. She's not wearing the usual collection of miss-matched earrings, only the familiar coolness of the silver net slides against the back of my hand.  I sit up to press my lips against her exposed neck.

"Beloved", I whisper again and the slim body on my lap shudders, smooth arms twine around my head. I kiss my way to his open mouth. "Beloved."

He mumbles something that could be either a curse or a blessing before taking my head between his gloved hands and kissing me like his life depends on it.

He lets out a breathless little laugh when I tighten my grip on his hair. "Fitz", he says, trying to sound commanding but failing hopelessly. The way he says my name, like a confession or a prayer, disarms me in ways no ropes could ever.

I slide my hands to the sides of his face and press our foreheads together.

"I love you."

"Oh", he whispers, then sniffs.

"I love you", I say again because it is paramount that he understands me. "More than life. More than anything."

"Oh," he says, and swallows.

"I want to show you how much."

He is uncharacteristically ungraceful when he struggles out of the dressing gown with my useless assistance. We're both in too much of a hurry, too eager to find skin, to understand how belts and sleeves work. He laughs when I finally toss the offending garment onto the floor and grab him by the waist.  He fights the gloves off with his teeth and finally,  _ finally _ , falls into my arms, naked of clothes and the roles that come with them. His fingertips instinctively find the silver marks he left on my wrist. My head hits the headboard as my mind struggles to make sense of this new rush of sensation.

"There you are, my love," he breathes against my mouth as we sink into each other, my hunger for both the Skill and for him making me dizzy.

He surrounds me like sunlight, reveling in the feeling of my love for him, he's so unabashedly happy it makes me feel embarrassed. I find it hard to forgive myself for lying to him for so long.  I couldn't hide these feelings from him even if I tried, so strong has our Skill link grown. 

Skin to skin, mind to mind like this, my feelings are no longer separate from his.

"None of that now", he murmurs, lips soft against my cheekbone, kissing away an errant tear. 

Closing my eyes does nothing, he's still there, like the afterimage of the sun.  He's everywhere, behind my eyelids, running through my veins, so perfectly in my arms.

With a clever heel nudged between the mattress and my upper thigh he flips us over and pulls me tight against him, legs around my hips and left arm around my neck. I laugh, incredulous and delighted. As someone whose life has once ended I can honestly say that there are few greater joys in life than simply belonging to someone, especially for someone who was born an anomaly and has spent their entire life hoping to find their place.

To be seen, to be accepted, to be loved.

To be safe.

I sob into the crook of his shoulder as the last of my walls, the oldest, bitterest ones, fall down. I have spent so long hiding myself that I have forgotten why, when and how it started.  I'm new, naked and raw and my Beloved's being flows into me, unobstructed. As if two realities are merged, I see him simultaneously as a creature of light and beauty and knowledge of the ages, Prophet and Seer, and yet also my Fool, his nose wrinkling and lip curling in delight and appreciation of my hand travelling down his side.

His gaze locks with mine. Closer. His palm against the small of my back, his hips rising up to meet mine. Closer.

The back of his knee is slick with sweat, my fingers slip as I struggle to get his leg up over my shoulder.  Desperate as he is, he still manages to raise a smug eyebrow as he simply straightens his leg and braces the sole of his foot against the headboard over his head.  I want to tease him about being a show off but this change in position let's me slide against him in all sorts of new and interesting ways so I settle for gasping into his hair instead. 

His urge bleeds into mine, I wish I had the self-discipline left to take care of him first but there's nothing I can do except move to the rhythm of our heartbeats.  Then he bites the shell of my ear and all the teasing and waiting finally catches up with me. Skill and flesh, forgiveness and release, I shudder in my Beloved's arms. He kisses me everywhere he can reach, mumbling something I can't understand but I can feel a frantic litany of I-love-yous through the Skill link.

It takes a while to come back to myself. I vaguely register him lowering his leg, bending the knee gingerly. He carefully lifts his fingers off my wrist and then kisses me deeply, as if to make sure I won't feel abandoned.  I try to move out of the way as he pulls the covers from under us but my body seems to have decided I am no longer in control of it.

"Sorry", I mumble as he rolls me over and arranges my arms to his liking before curling up against me and pulling the heavy bedding over us both.

"You are forgiven", he announces, kissing the tip of my chin.

I absentmindedly comb my fingers through his hair and can't help but smile as they encounter a messy knot at the back of his head. I made that.

"Not that I claim to be expert", I start, then yawn, "but that was not what I thought plumbing was like."

He giggles against my chest, a merry, tingling laugh that makes me think of bells on a Fool's motley.


End file.
